


The Dragon and the Bear

by TheCakeConundrum (orphan_account)



Series: The Dragon and the Bear [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't Judge Me, F/M, Queen Daenerys, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheCakeConundrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daenerys is Queen of Westeros, but she finds that something is missing. She goes out in search of the man she once called her dearest friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dragon and the Bear

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fluffy bunny. Be warned. [I ship it so much you wouldn't believe].
> 
> As requested by my sister. Alys, if you're reading this: I told you I don't just write SanSan ;-D
> 
> I might make this part of a series... I'll see how things go.

Bear Island rose amid steely grey waves, a mass of boulders and craggy hills and tall, watchful pines. _Just as I imagined it,_ Daenerys thought to herself, from her vantage point on the clifftop. _It suits my Old Bear well._

She was Queen of Westeros, but that did not stop her from growing a little nervous at what awaited her on the island far below. It had been nigh on two years since she had last seen Jorah Mormont, since she had cast him from her presence, and she did not how she would find him. His aunt and cousins were all dead, and with Ned Stark gone no one had thought to check the Mormont’s ancestral home for any dwellers. But somehow, she knew he would be there.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Your Grace?” Ser Barristan asked her, his voice serving to calm her nerves somewhat. “We can send an envoy in your place. You needn’t face that traitor again.”

 _Traitor._ The word was true, and yet, Dany could not help but feel saddened by it, remembering her dear counsellor, the man who had given her Westerosi books on her wedding day, who had knocked a poisoned cup from her hands, who had told her he loved her. _I missed that man, the day I took the Iron Throne._ She had envisioned him standing beside her, her sworn shield, and the victory she had planned for so long had seemed a little empty without him in it.

“I must see him for myself, Ser Barristan.” Dany replied, looking out across the waves. “I would see where his loyalties lie with my own eyes.”

******

He huddled beside the dwindling fireplace, a shiver running down his spine. _Winter is coming_. The Starks always had the truth of it, damn them, but Jorah Mormont knew with a silent despair that he did not have the provisions to see another spring.

The keep, with its timbered walls and stone floors, seemed so empty without his family in it. Some days, he would walk into the solar, half expecting to see his father sitting in the chair by the fire, his aunt Maege ready to lecture him from the writing desk. But they were gone, as were Dacey and all his cousins, his mother, his brother all. _I am the last of House Mormont_ he mused bitterly as he watched the embers fading. _The shame of my family, twice banished. Once for the abomination of slaving, and once for treachery against my queen, but both for love._

He thought of her then, as he had every day for two long years. Her hair was long, so blonde it was almost silver, and her eyes were lilac stars. _My Old Bear_ , she called him, with a voice sweet as honey, but so sure of itself. His heart ached at the memory, as raw as the day she’d sent him away.

“I loved you, Daenerys.” He told the fire, as though he could see her standing among the flames, as he had so long ago. She had emerged, unburnt, with dragons curling around her arms, and he had fallen to his knees in awe of her. “I still do. But I betrayed you.”

In the silence, his voice broke, and Jorah sounded more pathetic in his own ears than he could stand. “I _betrayed_ you. And for what? A royal pardon. The chance to come home, to _this_ godsforsaken place.” He watched the firewood smoulder, powdered grey with ashes, and thought of her face, of the cold distance he had seen in her eyes as she banished him from Meereen. “This was home, once. I was a boy here, on this island of bears and boulders. My cousins and I would play all day, and my father would smile and lift me onto his lap, and tell me how _proud_ he was of me.”

Jorah clutched his arms then, feeling the tears falling, doing nothing to stop them, talking to air and ashes. “He wouldn’t even look at me, the day I was banished. The shame was unbearable, but I vowed I’d come back one day.” The man laughed at that, the lines of his face deepening in the half-light. “Oh, but my queen, I came too late. I came back to hear that my father was dead, far beyond the wall, at the hands of his own men. My aunt, too, and her oldest daughter, slaughtered at the red wedding. And the rest, cut down in battle, while I sat idle and dreamed of you and I.”

He gritted his teeth, shivering worse than ever now. It seemed an eternity since he had last been warm, since he had eaten a decent meal, but he found himself beyond caring. “They’re all dead.” He told the dwindling hearth fire. “And I’m not.”

“You’re not.” A voice agreed from behind him, making him start in his chair. _Her voice. It sounds so real._ Jorah wondered how long he hadn’t eaten; he was clearly becoming disoriented.

Turning in his chair, Jorah saw that someone was standing in the doorway of the solar, small and slim and hauntingly familiar. But it couldn’t be.

“I dream again.” He muttered bitterly, more to himself than the vision watching him.

“You do not dream, Ser.” The voice replied, as the silhouette paced into the room, stepping into the ruddy glow of the flames. “If you were, I would not be so solemn.”

Blinking, Jorah looked up into the lilac eyes, shock rendering him speechless for a few moments. “Daenerys.” He breathed, more to himself than her. _This cannot be real._ And yet, there she was, flesh and blood and silver hair, draped in warm robes of softest blue.

“It is customary to refer to the Queen as _’Your Grace’_ ” she replied, a little sternly, but she did not glare at him as he had expected. Instead, she seemed almost thoughtful.

“Your Grace.” Jorah stammered, confusion giving way to utter conflict. _She is here, but she is still angry._ “How... why...”

“I have come to hear House Mormont swear fealty to the crown.” Daenerys told him simply, but with a dignity he did not dispute. _Of course, she sits the Iron Throne now. I was not there to see it._

“Fealty?” Jorah replied, feeling dizzy with the sudden revelations of the day. _She came all the way from King’s Landing to be here. Why?_ He gave a sudden laugh. “You have it, Your Grace. You always have.”

Something flickered in her eyes then, not anger, but recollection, and her expression softened for a moment. Jorah felt sure he’d never seen anything so beautiful as her in that instant, and he had to dig his nails into his palm to ensure he was truly awake. It hurt.

“I would still hear you swear, Ser.” She told him, her voice barely above a murmur now. “Or are you still too proud to make an admission to me?”

She was talking, he knew, of their last encounter. He had been stubborn enough, fool as he was, to refuse the apology she was rightly deserved, for the treachery he had committed early on in their acquaintance. How many times had he berated himself for that decision, had cursed himself for his stupidity late at night? Getting to his feet, shakily at first, Jorah drew his sword.

He knelt, holding up the blade in submission. _In the end, I am always powerless before her._ He could not look up, instead focusing humbly on the toes of her boots.

“Your Grace.” He said, unsure of himself. “ _Daenerys_. I swear to you, by old gods and new, the fealty of my House. The Mormonts of Bear Island will uphold your laws, deliver your justice and never rise against you. My House is yours, my home is yours...my heart is yours.”

She said nothing, and for a heartbeat Jorah felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. _I have gone too far again,_ he thought bitterly, still refusing to look up. _She despises me, and I still give her words of love she will never return._

Then she spoke.

“Rise then, Jorah Mormont.” Daenerys said, with all the formality that became a Queen. He raised his eyes to hers then, and she smiled. “My Old Bear.”

He could have cried at those three words. Instead, he stood straight, his gaze never wavering.

“ _Khaleesi_ ,” he said, using the old title he had so often spoken, “I owe you an apology. An admission, as you deserve.”

A hand on his arm stopped his speech, and Jorah looked down at the soft hand covering his calloused one. “There is no need, Ser. I heard all. I understand now.”

 _She heard everything I said_. Somehow, Jorah couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed. _The truth is what she deserves, and she had it._

“I would ask more of you.” Daenerys continued, looking up at him, steadfast and sure. He felt rooted to the spot, and he would gladly stay there forever.

“Anything.” He breathed, not looking away.

“Return to King’s Landing with me.” Her voice was ever calm, like waves lapping on some soft shore. “I require experienced hands to help me rule this kingdom, and I would not feel certain of anything without my Old Bear’s sound counsel.”

She offered him a small smile then, and Jorah’s eyes dropped from hers. He glanced around the room, lingering over the empty chairs, the dust moats dancing in the air between them, the fire dying surely in the hearth.

_This house is too full of ghosts._ He looked back at her, wondering if she meant what she said. They were unwavering, and he gave a heavy sigh.

“My Queen,” said he, smiling for the first time in two years, “I would go with you anywhere.”


End file.
